


Dare You To Move

by kiwithegr8



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, foster kids!AU, modern!AU, more characters will come up in later chapters, side characters are not included in the tags, some canon information may be changed in order to fit the story, some characters mentioned in the tags may not appear until later chapters, these children just really deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwithegr8/pseuds/kiwithegr8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though it's been a year and a half since her father died, Clarke Griffin is still grieving over her loss. Her mother works at the detention center/orphanage downtown, and decides to spend their insurance money on remodeling their house into a safe haven for the troubled youth that have yet to find homes.<br/>Clarke, at first, is completely against the whole idea; until the kids actually start showing up, and over the course of one summer,  the ragtag bunch of teens form a familial bond that none of them could have predicted. </p><p>I just have a lot of feelings over this show, okay? These kids really deserve some regular fun, so this modern time foster!AU is exactly how I handled that :)</p><p>This is one of my first fanfictions, so I am open to any constructive criticism. Compliments and reviews are greatly appreciated! I will be uploading more chapters to this whenever I get the chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Early Morning Arguments

**Author's Note:**

> When Abby Griffin told her daughter that she was planning on opening their home to accept foster kids from her workplace, Clarke didn’t come out of her room for thirty minutes.
> 
>  
> 
> This is one of my first fanfictions, so I apologize for anything too OOC; I haven't written these characters at all before now, but I hope to get a little better as the story progresses! Enjoy :)

It was early Saturday morning, the first real day of summer break. The dew was just popping up on the grass, forming in small droplets on the lawn. The lake sitting in the center of the neighborhood lay glassy and smooth, with only a few fishermen dotting the water. Soft murmurs and calls of various animals could be heard from the brush, and the fluctuating whistle of a loon sounded in the distance.  
The sun cast a light glow over the surface of the lake, gentle waves lapping lazily on the shore. Although it was a little chilly, the weather reports gave an estimate of it to be in the late seventies that afternoon. With fluffy clouds rolling in from the south, and clear skies in the east, it promised to be a beautiful weekend. 

As the rest of the world was just waking up, Clarke Griffin stood out in the middle of the lawn, having just gotten the mail. She had taken the liberty to put sweatpants on, and even slip a pair of her mother’s shoes onto her feet before she stepped out the door. Other than that, she had just rolled out of bed. Her golden hair lay in a pile of messy curls on her shoulders, and if you looked closely you could still make out the lines from the pillow marking her face and neck. She donned a fluffy white bathrobe, a gift for her seventeenth birthday, and her father’s watch remained in its usual place on her right hand.

Clarke scanned the early morning horizon, blue eyes glancing over the house that lay in front of her; brown bricks made an arch just in front of the front door, and even though the shades were drawn, she could see a faint light coming from her mom’s bedroom. Condensation was glistening on the large garage doors, a result of the humidity. Although there was still a little work to be done for the back of the house, the only sign that there had ever been any construction was the brown streak of dirt paved in the road leading up to their house, along with decently sized pieces of gravel that made all the neighbor kids trip their scooters coming down the street. 

Clarke peered into the large window above the entryway, and could see the faint outline of the chandelier twinkling in the early morning sunlight. A shadow passed in front of the doorway, making it’s way towards the kitchen; her mom, getting ready for work, no doubt. 

 

Clarke sighed, smelling the sweet breeze coming off of the lake behind her house. She closed her eyes, and if she listened closely, she could hear the waves lapping the shores in the distance; a slow, smooth rhythm droning in the back of her skull, pulling her thoughts back and forth, back and forth…

Her mind drifted to the night several weeks before construction, when her mom had dropped the big news. Clarke had come home from a rough day at school with her backpack heaving with homework she’d been given. Last minute studying for the end of term finals had left her with no real time to relax. She had wandered into her mom’s bedroom, planning on telling her that she was going to be studying at the library for a few hours, when she saw her mom holding an envelope. Abby turned around, clutching them in her hand like she’d never let them go. 

She showed them to Clarke, saying that they were from the city council, a hesitant but hopeful smile spreading on her mother’s lips. The town had agreed to pay their respects to the Griffin family, as a thanks to what Clarke’s father had done for so many people before he passed.  
It just so happened that the way the council said "thanks" was a check that could set the Griffin’s for a life.

Unlike most mom’s her age would have done, instead of moving out of town, Abby decided to make a “fresh start” by completely remodeling their house. The blueprints for the new "Hollywood worthy" mansion included so many rooms that, when it was finished, Clarke was convinced a small army could live comfortably in it. 

Even though Clarke didn’t see much need for one, or what it would be used for, there were even plans for a lighthouse to be built on the beach in their backyard, leading to the lake. 

“Think of this a tribute to your father,” Abby told her, just as the cranes and bulldozers started rolling in to start construction. "He'd want us to start over."

Jake Griffin's death had been not only a great loss to his family, but to the community as well. He was the manager of a large homeless shelter, which he had named The Ark, and he and his work were highly respected. Everyone in town knew him and what he had accomplished, and in return he was everyone’s best friend. Even people who hated him had to give him credit for his actions.

The large redstone building that served as the shelter was located downtown, and it took up a whole block. Homeless people of all shapes and sizes took refuge in it. Anyone was able to walk in and make themselves comfortable, as long as they met Jake Griffin first (more like Jake Griffin made a point to say "hi' to anyone walking in). It was rumored to be a refuge and meeting place for many orphans, as well as the abused or neglected that would be trying to get out of the house. 

Clarke remembered how her father was always the bigger man. He felt that everyone deserved a second chance, and he wanted to help everyone he met who had a problem. Even if it meant putting their lives before his own. 

“You wouldn’t believe the things these people do to just get by, Clarke,” he confided in her one day, just coming home from work. “Scrounging in the trash when they want something to eat, taking showers in the rain. Some don’t even get that lucky. I mean, there are kids on these streets! No older than you, and I bet some are even younger.” 

Clarke recalled how she stood in awe of his words, her brain still trying to process. She asked her father why he did the things he did, to which he replied:

“I don’t like seeing people suffer, kiddo,” he sighed, a melancholic smile spreading his lips. “Not if there’s something I can do about it.”

Clarke had never managed to comprehend how much her father’s work had affected the community, until he died. Once he passed away, there weren’t very many people willing to step up to the position of running the shelter. 

Without her father around to make sure the place was moving along, the refuge shut down about a week after his death. Once the doors were closed, the homeless roamed the streets once again, and pretty soon they were everywhere Clarke went. She almost felt like they were watching her every move.  
She could hardly walk into town without seeing at least four or five homeless sitting in the alleys, or walking on the sidewalk downtown. Some of them even approached her, paying their respects to her dad. 

She remembered the time she was coming home from a trip to the library, when she walked out the door and was stopped by a man. He wore a large, baggy hoodie, and his shrunken face looked almost skeletal in the harsh street lighting. The thing that she remembered the most were his eyes; her first glance into them, and she thought they looked hungry. 

“Your father used to wear that watch all the time at the shelter” he said to her, wisps of alcohol staining his breath and making Clarke cough.  
“Used to let all the kids look at it. He’d even let some of them try it on.” 

The man stared forlornly at the accessory on her wrist, and she was half tempted to let him wear it for a moment. Instinct told her not to trust him to give it back if she did, so she handed him whatever spare change she had, and bid him a good night, walking to her car faster than was necessary. 

 

Clarke frowned at the memory, wrapping the soft fabric of her bathrobe tighter around her. That incident had happened a month after the shelter closed down, and she still tried to avoid the pharmacy at all costs, for fear of running into the man again. The watch was the one last thing of her dad’s that was truly hers; she wasn’t going to give it up so easily. 

With a particularly strong gust of wind, Clarke almost lost her grip on the mail she held in her fist. She shivered again, and decided to make her way back inside, stomping her feet on the sidewalk to get rid of the water that clung to her shoes. 

The front door swung open, Clarke right behind it. Just as she stepped in the threshold, the wind behind her caused the door to shut with a loud BANG, and she grimaced. The crystals on the chandelier above her made small clinking noises, swinging slightly from the force. 

“Clarke? Is that you, honey?” Abby exclaimed from her place in the kitchen, sounding worried. 

Clarke slipped off her shoes, placing them in the closet door to her right, flicking the left over water that was stuck to the toe. She wiped her hands on her pants, walking towards the sound of her mom’s voice. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Just went out to get the mail,” she called back. She started to file through the letters and other assorted things that she had snatched from the mailbox. Junk, junk, bill, cooking magazine, bill…

“Anything interesting come today?” Abby asked. 

Clarke looked up from her preoccupation, glancing at her mother. She was in her nurses’ scrubs, sipping on her mug of coffee near the sink, leaning her elbows onto the counter. She hadn’t yet put her hair up for work, so her light brown waves swept down her back and shoulders. A few stray hairs cradled her moms face, and Clarke could have sworn that she could spot a few gray lines peeking out from her mom’s scalp. 

“Not really,” Clarke replied. “So far it’s just junk and a few bills.”

“Let me take a look,” Abby said, reaching her hand out across the counter. Clarke obliged, giving the mail to her mom. She watched patiently as Abby sorted through it, a small frown setting into her features. Suddenly, she let out a little gasp, her palm covering her mouth to stifle a growing smile. 

“Mom, what is it?” Clarke asked, her brows furrowing. Most times her mom got the mail, she looked passive; not really bored or ecstatic, nor happy or angry. This time, her mom looked like she just won the lottery. 

“Oh, nothing, Clarke,” Abby said, trying to contain her excitement. “Something came up with work, that’s all.” 

“Mom, most times something “comes up” at work, someone is either dead, sick, or placed for adoption,” Clarke says while rolling her eyes. 

Carrying on the "family tradition" of helping others, Abby had gone to med school in college to become a nurse. When she married Clarke’s father, she ended up working at the city detention center and orphanage as a health counselor. Her experience in the medical field made caring for sick teens or dying homeless people a little easier.

. The orphanage and detention center were melded together, making it easy for trouble making children and teens to find a home just a few doors down. When The Ark was closed, the kids that had once made their home there had no place to go, which lead to them getting caught by authorities. The majority of them were orphans, thieves, or were just running away from home. They were all welcomed into the orphanage, which had recently become overflowing with kids from the area. 

“Yeah, well…” Abby trailed off. “There’s something I've kind of been wanting to talk to you about.” She stood up, setting her coffee down on the counter. 

“Do you know why I decided to make the house so big, Clarke? Why I decided to remake it in the first place, rather than have us move?” Abby asked, pacing nervously, looking at her daughter for a response. When Clarke shook her head, Abby took a breath and began to speak again. 

“Think about it. More rooms. More chairs, bigger table. Not to mention the new sofa,” she explained with anticipation.

“I still don’t see what you’re getting at, mom,” Clarke replied, a little impatient. “Can you just tell me? You’ve got to go to work, and I've got reading to do.” 

Abby sighed, smiling despite herself. “Straight to the point? Are you sure?”  
Clarke nodded, folding her arms across her chest. 

Her mom took a big breath, trying to relax her shoulders.  
“I’ve decided to enroll the house into foster care. We’ll start getting the first few kids in a couple of days.” 

Clarke stood there, processing for a moment. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth fell open and closed again. She didn’t see that one coming.  
“A-are they kids from the detention center?” Clarke asked. “Anyone I know?”

Clarke was so used to it being just her and Abby around. When her dad died, they had each other; they'd grown closer because of it. The sudden thought of not being able to do whatever she wanted around the house kind of felt like giving up a limb. She didn’t want people barging in on her privacy, especially if she knew them. It was just supposed to be the two of them. Besides, if there were going to be teenage boys involved, they’d more than likely end up snooping around, which would NOT fly with Clarke. 

“Yes, they are from the detention center. They live next door at the orphanage, and most of them have been caught for one thing or another,” Abby said.

Clarke allowed her mouth to close, and it formed into a tight frown, her lips pursing. She tried to contain the sudden frustration boiling over in her stomach, but she didn't hold back. 

“So, we’re just letting criminals into our house, now?” she cried, waving her hands in an outward gesture. “Great, they can take all of my shampoo. Maybe steal some of the towels while they’re at it. We can kiss peace and quiet goodbye”

Abby put her hands on her hips, the way she did when she meant business. Clarke could recall many a time where her mom would walk in on her scribbling the walls with crayon, portraying the exact same pose as she was. 

“Honey, I know that it is a little sudden. But, I think that this could be good for you. For both of us,” Abby explained. “You’ll have company over the summer; probably make a few friends. The kids I chose are around your age, the youngest being about 15. It’ll be like-”

“Like having a family again?” Clarke flared, rage bubbling inside of her like acid. The fact that Abby hadn't given her the news sooner set her teeth on edge. Didn't she have a right to know if there were going to be hoards of kids coming into her house?  


Abby’s eyes flickered with fierce anger, before she mentally cooled herself down again.  
“I know that… losing you father has been tough. On both of us. The past year and a half has been hard, and I get it. But you can’t spend your entire life locked up in your room studying and reading all the time. Life isn’t going to stop for anyone, even when someone you love moves on without you.” 

Abby reached out her hand to her daughter, but she pulled away before their hands could touch.

“Clarke, please just-”

“NO, mom. I’m not going through with this,” she spat, whirling around and making her way towards the stairs. She was halfway up the bannister when her mom cried out for her to come back.

“Clarke, listen to me,” Abby hissed. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and it took all of her control to not start running after her daughter.

“No, YOU listen to me; I am not going to stand by while you play house. When those kids come walking through that door, don’t expect me to give them a warm welcome,” Clarke growled, turning her back. 

“Your father spent his whole life helping other people; he more than likely helped some of those kids. If you think that I’m just going to give up because he’s gone, then you are greatly mistaken.”

The clock near the front door chimed, signaling the beginning of a new hour. Glancing at her watch, Clarke read that it was eight in the morning. 

“I’m going to work,” Abby said with a sigh, rubbing her head. “We’ll talk when I get home.”

“And if I’m not here?” Clarke retorted, eyes flaring. 

If looks could kill, Clarke would have died ten times over. Her mother’s glare shot right through her soul. 

“I said, we’ll talk when I get home,” Abby hissed through clenched teeth. 

With a few seconds of rustling as she pulled her shoes from the closet and grabbed her keys, Abby left the house. The wind slammed the door behind her as she left. The chandelier was swinging again. 

“Yeah, and don’t let it hit you on the way out,” Clarke mumbled hotly, and she made her way towards her room, bathrobe swishing behind her.


	2. Two Sides Of The Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby reflects on Clarke's behavior as she makes her way to work, and Clarke fumes in her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on making this chapter longer to add a few more scenes, but I think that what I have in mind is probably better suited for the next chapter :)
> 
> Sorry if this one seems a little short.

Abby knew that telling Clarke this late in the game was risky. She admitted to herself that keeping it from her daughter for as long as she did was (probably) uncalled for. But for Clarke to act as stubborn and as hot-headed as she just did? Abby had a hard time recognizing her own daughter.

Clarke was not one to throw a tantrum, but this morning had almost broken that record. It was the closest thing to teenage rebellion that Abby herself had seen come from her daughter. Abby wondered if this was her making up for lost time. Maybe following the rules for her entire life lead Clarke to have no room for blowing off some hormone-induced steam.

_It’s no wonder she’s mad_ , Abby thought to herself as she pulled out of the neighborhood. _God knows I would have thrown a fit, if I was her age. It’s probably a privacy thing; she’ll get used to having more people around, I’m sure of it._

But as she made her way to work, Abby had a hard time convincing herself that Clarke was going to handle the foster kids well. She seemed pretty adamant in their earlier argument, even raising her voice (something that Clarke rarely did to her mother).

_It didn’t help that I brought her father into it,_ Abby mused, pulling her face into a slight grimace.   
_She’s always been touchy about him, especially after he passed. I just wish I knew how to help…_

Even though it had been a decent amount of time since Jake Griffin’s death, to the family he left behind, it still felt like yesterday. Abby and Clarke both had struggled with the grief, Clarke so much so that she took a week off of school after the funeral. She hated missing school for anything, even something as little as an appointment. Every hour missed was an hour wasted towards getting a scholarship, in Clarke’s opinion. For her to take so much time off was a serious matter.

Abby took Clarke and herself to a therapist after Jake died. They started off going twice a week, and it dwindled into once a week after the first few months. Abby still insisted that Clarke went with her, even though her daughter was reluctant to do so. Abby knew that she was still grieving, so why was she so hell bent on refusing to make herself better?

Abby turned on her blinker, making a left turn down the street; her workplace was just up ahead, on the right hand side. The large building looked more like a small hospital or hotel, rather than an orphanage/juvenile detention center.

It was a long, tall building, with brown bricks and green tinted windows. In the front lawn, next to the parking lot, stood a sign that had pixelated words and animations running across it. They often depicted the time, temperature, and other things affiliated with the orphanage.

The main lobby held a comfortable theme that one could only describe as “homey”. There were multiple sofas and chairs decorating the meeting area, and several paintings adorned the yellow walls. Plants could be found at every table and corner (Abby and a few coworkers even had little potted plants on their office window sills). A small waterfall was furnished behind the main desk, water running smoothly over the establishments’ logo.

Abby turned into the staff parking spaces, and pulled the keys out of the cars' socket once she'd parked. She grabbed her purse off of the floor, placed her keys inside, and slammed the door with her leg. She made her way towards the front doors, thanking an older gentleman as he held them open for her to get past.

_Clarke will have to wait,_ Abby thought as she walked past the front desk, waving and smiling at the secretaries there. _I’ve got work to do._

 

Meanwhile, Clarke paced in her bedroom, fuming. Steam could have been coming out of her ears, and she wouldn't have been surprised. She had abandoned her white bathrobe, revealing the blue shirt she wore underneath. Her bare feet made small indents in the carpet as she marched.

"I can't believe she just _didn't think to tell me before,_ " Clarke spat, throwing her hands up to her head.   
"How hard can it be? It's not like it would take very long," she grumbled.

"Oh, hi sweetie," she crowed, making a crude imitation of her mother's voice. She began to wave her arms in dramatic gestures.   
"I just wanted to let you know that there's going to be a herd of children living with us soon. Don't worry, though! Most of them are probably criminals, but that'll just make it more fun!" 

Clarke turned around, sitting on her bed with a frustrated sigh. She glanced at her watch: 8:23. Her mom should be at work by now.

She slid the buckle of the watch out of it's socket, taking it off and setting it next to her. She rubbed the red mark it left on her wrist.

Clarke groaned, holding her head in her hands. She made two fists, and pressed the butt of her hand on either side of her head, pressing upward. She tended to get headaches when she seethed for a while. Relieving the pressure was the only real way to help. 

_I just wish I could have known earlier,_ she thought, pressing her hands down in circular motions on her temples. A small voice whispered in the back of her mind: 

_Would that have made any difference? Had you known before now?_

"No," Clarke huffed irritably, thinking out loud. "It wouldn't. It's not like she wouldn't have gone through with it, anyways." 

She allowed her hands to drop, resting them in her lap. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down.   
_Dad would know what to do,_ Clarke thought, nostalgia creeping it's way into her mind. _He'd probably be sitting here right now, hugging me like he used to. He'd convince mom to give it a little time. I know he would._

Clarke smiled to herself, remembering how her dad would be the little peacekeeper in the family. He'd always find a way to talk both her and Abby down, convincing them to make up. They'd end up hugging, and laughing as he would make a joke about the whole situation. 

Clarke could feel a heat lingering just behind her eyes, tears pricking them and making her vision hazy. She bit her lip to prevent it from trembling. She almost couldn't remember what her dad's laugh was like, or how his eyes would get all crinkled when he smiled.

_God..._ she thought. _How did I let myself forget him so easily?_

Sometimes, on really bad days, Clarke felt like she would never get over her father's death. Sure, it had been over a year, and even her mom seemed normal. But there was always that nagging thought in the back of Clarke's mind, whispering in her ear when she felt helpless. 

_He's gone,_ it hissed. _He's gone and it's all your fault and **there's nothing you can do about it.**_

"Stop it!" Clarke exclaimed, fear and sadness filling her voice. Feeling out of breath, she slammed her hands down on top of her bedspread, and got up.

_Calm, down, Clarke,_ she mentally soothed. _Get a hold of yourself. You're okay, everything's fine. Just breathe..._

Clarke took deep breaths, holding them in for seven seconds and letting them out for eight. She remembered reading that using that technique would naturally allow the body to relax.

Once done with her breathing exercise, she walked towards her bedroom door, grabbing the towel from behind it. She whipped the towel around her shoulders, abandoning the room and making her way towards the bathroom down the hall. 

Clarke also remembered reading that baths are great for reducing stress, which was exactly what she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not end up publishing the next chapter either tomorrow or sometimes next week.   
> See you next time :)


	3. Nostalgia and Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby makes it to her office, and remembers the days where the kids knew when to leave her alone.

Abby walked past the other offices of the building, just coming back from seeing a few patients. With so much pollen and other contaminants floating around, teens who had allergies were getting affected heavily. Bee stings and sore throats were becoming more common, but other than that, there hadn’t been anything too harsh spreading around. The ones that were most heavily affected were given the needed medication and cough drops to help ease them into the warm summer months. 

During the winter, when everyone was cooped up for longer periods of time, the kids getting sick meant disaster. Abby remembered that her coworker, Jaha, mentioned that it was like a domino effect; as soon as one of the kids got sick, there would be one after the other, coughing and puking all over the place. This last winter, they had thankfully been spared of too many sick teens moping around; a few cases of pneumonia, flu and frostbite had been brought to Abby’s attention, but it had been an otherwise benign winter season. 

_I’d take allergies over the flu any day_ , Abby thought in relief, saying a few “good mornings” and “how are yous” as she passed orphans and visitors. _At least allergies aren’t contagious. If one of the kids managed to make me sick along with them, we’d be screwed for sure._

She recalled when there had been a sudden new virus going around a few months back, just as spring was peeking it’s head around the corner. There had been at least twenty or more kids coming down with a strange, new virus that left them bedridden for days. They were coughing up blood, bleeding from the eyes, and were hardly able to function. Many of them claimed that they were so nauseous it made them feel sick just to move. Keeping them hydrated was the only real thing that helped. 

Although the symptoms seemed severe, the only thing that was really a problem was the fact that it brought down the kids’ immune systems. With everyone’s defenses weakened, nearly every teen in the building was sick. It eventually came down to a quarantine area in the Dropship (the nickname for the main dorms). Everyone with the sickness was kept there until they got better, in order to smother the amount of infected. 

While nearly everyone else was down for the count, the ones that had gotten sick first were up and moving around within a few days, giving the other kids water and other supplies when they asked for it. Even one of the janitors, Bellamy Blake, got sick. Octavia, his sister, helped him get the proper medical attention, not wanting to leave his side until she made certain he was better. 

_Thank God some of the kids were immune_ , Abby mentally sighed, glad there were other people to help out with the virus. Clarke herself had volunteered to help as well, but had gotten sick within the first few hours. 

_That one kid, Finn, carried her into my office like she was dying,_ Abby thought with a chuckle. Finn Collins was one of the few kids, including Octavia, who had been immune. He’d caught Clarke as she nearly blacked out, and carried her bridal style to Abby’s office saying that she needed help. Clarke was blushing the whole time, insisting that she was fine, but was too weak to put up a fight with him.

_If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought she had a little crush on him,_ thought Abby, smirking despite herself. _The other kids think he’s a prince or something. Always the little optimist..._

Finn had always been a flirt, showering the girls with flowers and compliments. Clarke was the only one to not give in to his nice-guy ways, brushing him off every chance she got, acting aloof. But Abby could tell she was fighting a smile when he started called her “princess.” At first it seemed to annoy her, even make her frustrated, until she figured out he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Unfortunately, the nickname stuck, and pretty soon everyone was calling Clarke “princess”. Finn seemed pretty proud of himself after the fact. 

She took a left turn, entering her office. The light brown paint was freckled with sunlight filtering through the blinds, and dust particles floated in and out of the rays. There was a faint smell of apples in the air, tickling Abby’s nose. The large round clock on the wall ticked quietly, it’s pendulum swinging in a rhythm. There was a framed portrait of her degree that sat on her desk, right next to a family picture of Clarke and her dad. Little cacti and other plants were adorned on the windowsill, their flowers beginning to bloom. 

A bulletin board rested on the wall to the right, covered in nearly a hundred pictures from the teens that had been adopted, and the ones that had made their home at the orphanage. There were birthday parties, Christmas get-togethers, potlucks, Easter egg hunts, and many more events. The teens that managed to make it out of there had sent pictures of their progress, be it moving in with their new foster family, or getting a place of their own. There were even a few where the teens had grown, and had families and spouses, all of them promising to visit soon. Many of the teens were going to college, trying to make up for the years of education they’d lost while being on the street. 

It was a liberating thing to see for Abby. Seeing so many happy times and smiling faces reminded her of why her work was so important. The photos and experiences were a result of all the hard work the kids and other staff had put in to make their lives just a little bit easier. And it was worth it. 

When the going got tough, or she had just a bad day at work, Abby would close the door to her office and allow herself to study the pictures; remind herself that the pain and frustration was only temporary. The nostalgia would sweep into her mind, replacing the anger and sadness with memories. 

_I remember when they gave me flowers for Mother’s Day_ , she reminisced, a small smile on her lips. _The younger ones were always wanting to tell me about their day, asking how I was. They’d even give me their toys, if I was feeling down._

She appreciated the affection the kids gave her from time to time. When Jake died, it was almost like a part of the kids had died as well. They all mourned the loss, and the teens who knew Abby well enough paid their respects. Many of them gave whatever they could, even if it was all they had; whether it be a toy, some loose change, or other objects. Many of them had been guests at the original homeless shelter, and felt as if they owed Jake their lives. They were concerned and distraught, asking if they could attend the funeral. The teens leaned on one another for emotional support, growing closer in the process 

In the aftermath of Jake’s passing, the kids became hyper aware of their surroundings. They noticed the littlest changes in each other, being able to read off of emotions pretty easily. If Abby was having a bad day, even the testier kids were mild with their outbursts. Murphy and Mbege, two boys who were notorious for causing trouble, simmered down after they heard the news. They became uncharacteristically quiet, and actually behaved and followed directions for once, trying to _not_ cause trouble. Their reputation for being jerks didn’t apply when people died, apparently. 

Abby blinked, not realizing she’d been staring at the board for a few minutes. She was sitting down in her chair, turning to face the array of pictures. Slanted lines of sunshine caused a glare on the photos, making her squint. 

_Maybe once we get all the kids settled in at the house, we could start a board of our own,_ Abby thought. _Let the kids take pictures of what they do when they’re there._

With that in mind, she stood up from her wheelie chair, pushing it into it’s resting place. She brushed her pants off, setting her purse on the desk. She turned around to face the blinds, pulling the string to let the bright light soak the room with warmth. 

_New start means a clean slate, right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I'm not updating too often!  
> I'm not gonna lie; I am literally too lazy to write, and I am a terrible procrastinator.  
> I was planning on making this longer, so I might either edit the chapter length when I get around to writing Clarke's part of this chapter, or just make a new chapter all together.


	4. Granny Takes A Dip

Clarke grasped the shower curtain tightly, her fist clenching around the plastic sheet. She yanked it to the right, exposing the giant soaking bathtub that lay in front of her. It sat gleaming in the strong lighting of the large bathroom, waiting patiently to be filled with water. 

In the original plans for the home, Abby had asked Clarke if she wanted to get a bathroom connected to her bedroom, tailored to her liking. She could have a walk in shower, jacuzzi, anything she wanted. Clarke had refused, saying that it wasn’t necessary. 

However, in the light of the whole “foster care” debacle, Clarke would have easily gone back in time to talk some sense into her past self. When the kids would start to roll their way into the house (and into Clarke’s life), she was going to need all the privacy and alone time she could get. Now, dread crept over her as she realized she was probably going to have to share a bathroom with more than just her mom from now on. 

“If any of those kids touch my stuff, they’re _dead_ ,” Clarke hissed through clenched teeth as she began to undress. “I spent too long organizing the closet in here for some strangers to ruin it all over again.” 

Clarke grasped the neck of her shirt, sliding her arms into the holes and pushing the fabric until it came off past her head. She flung it onto the floor, making a small pile.  
She slid her sweatpants and underwear down her legs, kicking them off in one swift motion. She groped for her towel, and whirled it around her body, tying it into a makeshift dress. 

She made her way towards the cupboard behind her, swinging the doors open. Scents erupted from the compartment, all of them strong and lovely. Clarke inhaled deeply, letting out her breath that turned into a smile. 

The only real reason Clarke wanted to get a giant bathtub in the first place was so she could splurge on bath time accessories. As soon as she was able, she dragged her mom to the nearest Bath And Beyond, and spent her allowance on whatever she deemed necessary. She got a new back-scrubber, shower pom, and even a comical rubber duck. Bubble bath, soaps, salt scrubs, face masks, anything Clarke could get on her hands on, was bought. 

But the best part was when she stumbled upon a new company called Lush. Visiting their website, Clarke soon discovered that not only did they specialize in making organic shower, body and hair products, but also something called a bath bomb. She spent all afternoon looking at their assorted kinds of bombs, carefully picking out which ones she wanted to try the most. After looking up pictures and videos of what they looked like, she confided in her mother what she wanted to do. 

Two weeks later, Clarke had a considerably large stash of bath products stocked in her bathroom cabinets. In the top compartment, there were razors, shampoo, feminine products, and other miscellaneous objects. The middle cabinet contained over dozen bath bombs, bath melts, and other luxuries. The bottom cabinet held all of the towels and washcloths that Clarke needed. It was honestly a dream come true. 

Clarke studied the array of bombs and melts she stored in the drawer, thinking about which one she wanted to pick. She’d only tried a few of them, saving them for times of stress and other things like that so they’d last longer. She even put a little label on the decorative box she’d put them in, giving the title **EMERGENCIES ONLY**. 

“Yeah, well I’d say that this whole thing is _definitely an emergency_.” Clarke smirked, perking her eyebrow. 

Perusing the aisles of bombs, she finds the most colorful one she can find, one that really catches her eye. In the back, she spots it; a flat, yet round bomb, with green, pink and blue rings surrounding it’s core, like an alien planet. She picks it up, carefully resting it in her hand to read the title. Granny Takes A Dip. 

Clarke remembered when she found this one on the company’s website. It looked odd, being so brightly colored, and the title itself was enough to make her take a closer look. The description of the product stated that it was used for “taking a break from the real world” and that she would “emerge from the tub with softened, lightly perfumed skin and a clear mind.” 

_And a clear mind is exactly what I need_ , Clarke mused, anxious to try the bath bomb. 

Everyone of the bombs she had tried before were so different from each other, each of them colorful and unique. They all held certain purposes, and smelled heavenly. She wondered if this crazy colored bomb would be just as good as the other ones. She guessed that she’d just have to find out. 

Unwrapping the plastic surrounding the bomb, she walked over to the bathtub, gently placing it on the edge of the tub. Bending over slightly, blonde curls falling near her face, Clarke reached for the handle and turned the hot water all the way up. 

The warm water splashed on the white corners of the tub, making them slick. It hit the bottom with such high velocity that some flecks spattered onto Clarke’s face, making her flinch. She wiped them away, frowning slightly. 

As the tub began to gradually fill with water, the loud splashes soon dimmed into muffled gurgles as the water continued to pour out of the faucet. Clarke stirred the water with her hand, making sure that the bomb didn’t fall in the water just yet. 

Clarke waved her hand in the water once more, flicking her wrist to snap the beads of moisture off her hand. She reached for the handle, and turned the water off. Steam rose from the gentle ripples, rising to meet the ceiling. She sighed happily, glad that she could finally get in the tub. 

“Here goes,” Clarke mumbled, grabbing the bath bomb with her thumb and index finger. She leaned over the edge of the tub, and plopped the bomb into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I've been wanting to get bath bombs for a while. I'm jealous of Clarke D:  
> This one is short, but I just wanted to give you guys something to chew on.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this chapter seemed a little info-heavy; I'm not typically the type to make the background be revealed as the story goes on (depending on who/what it's about). The flashbacks and thoughts may seem a bit confusing, and I apologize if this caused you a little confusion and headache.  
> I will try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible; I'll be heading to a vacation tomorrow, so I hope to continue writing while I'm there :)
> 
> Until next time!


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